Behemoth

EIGHTEEN

The Stamboul descended just inside the palace walls, in an overgrown garden the size of a cricket field.

The Kizlar Agha stood at the airship’s prow, shouting directions to the propeller men, making adjustments all the way down. Deryn soon saw why—there was barely room to land an airship. But the craft settled precisely at a spot where five paths crossed, as soft as a kiss, like a gaudy pavilion completing the garden’s design. The fronds of palm trees around them shivered in the wash from the airship’s propellers.

The gangway dropped, and the Kizlar Agha led Deryn, Dr. Barlow, and the two crewmen with the egg box down into the sultan’s garden.

A hundred windows looked down upon them, but all were covered with metal lattices that shimmered gold in the sunlight. Deryn wondered if there were people watching them through the narrow slats, courtiers and advisers, or the sultan’s famous harem of countless wives.

This was nothing like Buckingham Palace, where Deryn had watched the changing of the Royal Lionesque Guard her first day in London. That was four stories tall and as square as a cake. But here the buildings were low and surrounded by colonnades, their arches decorated with checkerboards of black and white marble, as shiny as piano keys. Steam pipes wound across the mosaicked walls like message lizard tubes, sweating and huffing with the energies inside them. Guards stood at every door, Africans in bright silk uniforms armed with halberds and scimitars.

Deryn wondered what it would be like to live among all this spectacle and pomp, all of it designed to dazzle the eye. Had poor Alek grown up in a place this fancy? It would be enough to drive you mad, having a million servants watching your every move.

The guards all made elaborate bows to the Kizlar Agha, murmuring the same greeting that Dr. Barlow had used.

“Is that Turkish for ‘hello’?” Deryn whispered, wondering if she should learn the phrase.

“Arabic. Many languages are spoken here in the palace.” Dr. Barlow glanced up at the steam pipes. “Let us hope that German is not one.”

Soon they were led to a large marble building that stood apart from the rest of the palace. Three blazing smokestacks thrust skyward from its roof, and the sound of grinding gears rumbled within.

The Kizlar Agha stopped before an archway sealed by two stone doors. “We enter the throne room of Sultan Mehmed V, Lord of the Horizons.”

He clapped his hands three times, and the doors opened with a hiss of steam. A smell rolled out—burning coal and engine grease covered over with incense.

The throne room was dark after the brilliant sunlight outside, and Deryn could hardly see at first. But before her rose what seemed to be a giant sitting cross-legged, as large as the iron golems in the street the day before. It was a metal statue dressed in countless yards of black silk, a sash of silver cloth spread across its medaled chest, and a crimson fez the size of a bathtub on its strange horned head.

As her eyes adjusted, Deryn noticed a man beneath the statue. He was dressed in exactly the same clothes, and sat on his silk divan in the same position, cross-legged, his hands resting on his knees.

“Welcome, Dr. Barlow,” he said, his right hand turning over to show an empty palm.

Behind him the statue stirred, mimicking his movements. It was an automaton—the whole throne room one huge mechanism! But the rumble of engines and gears was muffled to a whisper by thick tapestries and stone walls, so the huge statue seemed almost alive.

In the corner of Deryn’s vision the lady boffin was curtsying smoothly, as if she met giant statues every day. Deryn recovered from her surprise and bowed from the waist, the way Alek always had when addressing the Leviathan’s officers. She realized she had no idea how to behave around a barking emperor, and wished the lady boffin had spared a moment to tell her.

“My Lord Sultan,” Dr. Barlow said. “I bring you greetings from His Majesty, King George.”

“Peace be upon him,” the sultan said, bowing his head a little. Behind him the giant automaton followed in kind.

“I bring you a gift as well.” Dr. Barlow gestured at the egg box.

The sultan’s eyebrows rose. Deryn found herself relieved that the automaton didn’t make facial expressions. The giant machine was uncanny enough as it was.

“An odd shape for a dreadnought,” the sultan said. “And a bit small for a behemoth.”

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the lady boffin cleared her throat. “Our little gift is not, of course, a replacement for the Osman or its companion creature. Though His Majesty regrets that unfortunate affair.”

“Does he?”

“Profusely,” Dr. Barlow said. “We have only borrowed the Osman because our need is greater. Britain is at war, and your empire is—and hopefully shall stay—at peace.”

“Peace has its burdens too.” The sultan crossed his arms, and the statue followed suit.

Watching more closely now, Deryn noticed that the machine’s movements were a bit stiff, like a sailor caught with too much rum under his belt and trying to act sober. Perhaps to aid the illusion, the sultan moved slowly and carefully, like an actor in a pantomime show. Deryn wondered if he controlled the automaton himself, or whether there were engineers watching from some hidden cubbyhole, their hands scurrying across levers and dials.

Somehow, wondering about its inner workings made the huge contraption less unsettling.

“I am sure your cares are great, My Lord Sultan.” Dr. Barlow looked toward the egg box. “And we hope that this fabricated creature, humble though it is, will prove a welcome distraction from them.”

“The Germans give us railroads, airships, and wireless towers,” the sultan replied. “All the glories of the mekanzimat. They train our armies and service our machines. They rebuilt this palace and helped us crush the revolution six years ago. And all your king can offer is a distraction?”

The sultan gestured at the egg box, and the automaton’s hand stretched out across the room, stirring the air as it passed over Deryn’s head. She hunched her shoulders, wondering how powerful those giant fingers were.

Dr. Barlow didn’t seem ruffled at all. “Perhaps it is only a start,” she said, bowing her head a little more. “But we offer this gift with hope for a happier future.”

“A gift? After so many humiliations?” The sultan looked at the egg again. “Perhaps we have been distracted long enough by your gifts.”

Suddenly the giant fingers wrapped around the box, closing into a fist. The crackle of splintering wood echoed from the stone walls, and pieces skittered like matchsticks across the floor. The egg burst with a sickening crack, and translucent strands oozed between the metal fingers. As they pooled together on the stone floor, the reek of sulfur joined coal smoke and incense.

A gasp of horror escaped the lady boffin’s mouth, and Deryn stared, wide eyed, at the closed fist, then at the sultan. Oddly, the man seemed surprised himself, as if he hadn’t realized what he was doing. Of course, he hadn’t done anything—the automaton had.

Deryn looked at the sultan’s outstretched hand. His fingers were still open, simply gesturing at the egg box, not curled into a fist.…

Her eyes darted around the room. The Kizlar Agha and the crewmen who had carried the egg box wore astonished expressions, and there was no one else in the room. But then she spotted an upper gallery behind the statue’s head. It was covered over with latticed windows, and for a moment Deryn thought she saw eyes peering down between the slats.

She glanced at Dr. Barlow, trying to get her to notice the sultan’s open hand. But the lady boffin’s face was pale and frozen, her poise shattered along with the egg.

“I see, Lord Sultan, that I have come too late.” Despite her devastated expression, there was steel in her voice.

The sultan must have heard it too. He cleared his throat softly before speaking.

“Perhaps not, Dr. Barlow.” He brought his palms together, but the automaton stayed motionless, its giant hand frozen around the shattered, leaking egg. “In a way the scales have already been balanced.”

“How do you mean?”

“Just today we have been able to replace the dreadnought you ‘borrowed’ from us, with two ships instead of one.” The sultan smiled. “May I present to you the new commander of the Ottoman navy, Admiral Wilhelm Souchon.”

A man strode from the shadows, and Deryn’s jaw dropped. He wore a crisp blue German naval uniform, except for the crimson fez on his head. He clicked his heels and bowed to the sultan, then turned to salute Dr. Barlow.

“Madam, I welcome you to Istanbul.”

Deryn swallowed. So that was how the two German ironclads had disappeared—the Ottomans had hidden them, for the price of owning them! And they hadn’t just taken the ships, they’d put the master of the Goeben in charge of their whole barking navy.

The lady boffin simply stared, dumbstruck for the first time Deryn had ever seen. The silence stretched out awkwardly, the only sound the last innards of the egg dripping onto the stone floor.

Finally Deryn cleared her throat and returned the German’s salute.

“As ranking officer present, I extend the thanks of the British Air Service. For all your, um, hospitality.”

Admiral Souchon looked coolly at her. “I don’t believe we are acquainted, sir.”

“Midshipman Dylan Sharp, at your service.”

“A midshipman. I see.” He turned back to Dr. Barlow and offered his hand. “Forgive me, madam, for the military formalities. I almost forgot you were a civilian. It is a pleasure to meet you. And how lucky that, thanks to my recent appointment, we do not meet as enemies.”

The lady boffin extended her hand and let the admiral kiss it.

“Charmed, I’m sure.” She slowly gathered herself, turning back to the sultan. “Two ironclads is indeed a most impressive gift. In fact, I am so moved by this German generosity that I must offer another gift on behalf of the British government.”

“Really?” The sultan leaned forward. “And what would that be?”

“The Leviathan, Lord Sultan.”

The room went silent again, and Deryn blinked. Had the lady boffin gone completely barking mad?

“It is the most famous of the great hydrogen breathers,” Dr. Barlow continued. “As valuable as the Osman and its companion put together, and a creation that your German friends could never match.”

The sultan looked quite pleased, and Deryn noticed that Admiral Souchon’s smile had frozen on his face. She herself was dizzy, unable to believe what the lady boffin was saying.

“Dr. Barlow,” she spoke up. “It is, of course, customary to check with the captain before, um … giving away his ship.”

“Ah, of course.” Dr. Barlow waved her hand. “Thank you for reminding me, Mr. Sharp. We shall require a few days to communicate with the Admiralty, Lord Sultan, before effecting this transfer.”

“That is unfortunate, Dr. Barlow,” Admiral Souchon said, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “The limit for harboring a combatant ship in wartime is twenty-four hours. International law is very strict on this matter.”

“May I remind you, Admiral,” the sultan said mildly, “that your own grace period was extended while negotiations took place?”

The German opened his mouth, then closed it and bowed, low. “Of course, My Lord Sultan. I am at your command.”

Leaning back on his divan, the sultan smiled and folded his hands. Without the automaton mimicking him, Deryn noticed that he moved more fluidly. Or perhaps he was simply enjoying pitting two great powers against each other.

“Then we are all agreed,” he said. “Dr. Barlow, you have four days to get me the Leviathan.”

Thirty minutes later the Stamboul rose into the air again. As it passed over the shimmering strait in a slow turn back toward the airfield, the Kizlar Agha joined Deryn and Dr. Barlow at the railing, his face pale.

“I do not know what to say, madam. My Lord Sultan was not himself today.”

“He seemed firm enough in his convictions,” Dr. Barlow said, her voice still quavering from shock.

“Indeed. But he has not been the same since moving back into the palace. The Germans have changed so much there. Not all of us approve.”

Deryn frowned, wanting to mention what she’d noticed about the automaton. But she couldn’t in front of the sultan’s closest adviser.

The mechanical owl still perched on the Kizlar Agha’s shoulder, but she noticed that the cylinder on its chest was no longer spinning. Perhaps it was some sort of recording machine, and the man had switched it off to keep his words a secret.

“Are you saying that he may change his mind about the kaiser’s gifts?” Dr. Barlow asked carefully.

The Kizlar Agha spread his hands. “That, I do not know, madam. But our empire has fought two wars in the last ten years, and a bloody revolution as well. Not all of us want to join this madness in Europe.”

Dr. Barlow nodded. “Pray, then, make yourselves heard.”

“We shall try. Peace be upon you, and upon us all,” he said, then bowed and returned to the prow of the airship.

“How interesting,” the lady boffin said as he walked away. “Perhaps there is still hope for this country.”

“What did he mean exactly?” Deryn asked.

“Perhaps he plans to give his emperor good advice.” She shrugged. “Or perhaps something more. Sultans have been replaced before.”

Deryn turned back to the railing, and suddenly there they were below—the Goeben and the Breslau harbored in the Golden Horn.

“The admiral wasn’t lying,” she said, seeing crimson Ottoman flags fluttering from the ironclads’ mainmasts. “They must have been hiding up in the Black Sea yesterday.”

“I should have known,” Dr. Barlow said. “Those ships were trapped, worthless to the Germans. So why not offer them as bribes?”

“Aye, and speaking of bribes …” Deryn swallowed, almost afraid to ask. “What was that about giving the Leviathan away? You haven’t gone barking mad, have you?”

Dr. Barlow gave her a sidelong glance. “Don’t be tiresome, Mr. Sharp. That was merely a ploy to extend our time here. Which of course you knew, as you played your part to perfection. Another four days may prove quite useful.”

Deryn frowned. Played her part? She’d only said the first thing that had come into her head. “But if we’re not going to give the Ottomans the ship, what’s the point of staying?”

“Really, Mr. Sharp,” the lady boffin said, the steel returning to her voice. “Do you suppose I would journey across Europe without an alternate plan?”

“And this is your plan, ma’am? Making false promises to the sultan to make him even angrier?”

“Hardly.” The lady boffin sighed. “I doubt the sultan’s anger will make much difference, one way or the other. The Ottoman Empire is already in the Germans’ hands.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Deryn said. “And speaking of hands, I’m not sure that the sultan really meant to crush that egg.”

Dr. Barlow turned a cold gaze on Deryn. “Are you saying that my life’s work was destroyed by accident?”

“Not by accident, ma’am. But the sultan didn’t make a fist. He was just pointing at the egg, and then the automaton went and squashed your poor beastie, all on its own!”

Dr. Barlow was silent for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Of course. I’m an idiot! That throne room was built by German engineers, so they were in control, not the sultan. They forced his hand, so to speak.”

“Aye.” Deryn stared back at the water. The Stamboul had completed its turn, and the Goeben was receding into the distance. But she could still see the forbidding shape of the Tesla cannon, its struts covered with fluttering seabirds. “Makes you wonder how they’ll force the sultan’s hand next, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, Mr. Sharp.”

Deryn looked at the water stretching into the distance. The Royal Navy’s Mediterranean fleet was stationed just south of the strait, still waiting for the Goeben and Breslau to emerge. And in the opposite direction, the Russian navy sat in its Black Sea ports, not yet aware that their old enemy the sultan had two new ironclads.

All it would take was a quick sortie by Admiral Souchon in either direction, and the Ottomans would be dragged into war.